Truth
by thelivinggirl
Summary: Germany is forced to tell the truth of the war to his beloved Italia. GerTalia. Rating my go up.


**Truth**

Ludwig was holed up in his office all day, and refused to play no matter _what_ Feliciano promised, so the Italian made the split-second decision to duck out and surprise his lover with some delicious spaghetti for dinner. Looking back, he supposed he should have put on some pants, but his coat was long enough so only his skinny shins and ankles were bared to the cold.

Feliciano traipsed merrily on his way to the little grocery store by the railroad station. _Mmmmm, pasta!_ Ludwig said that he must get used to going without and 'rationing' and all of that, but the store was so close by that he could see it from Ludwig's mansion and Ve~ he could practically smell the pasta cooking already! Surely just enough for a pot wouldn't hurt?

When he came close enough to really see the railroad, however, something was wrong – Feliciano could taste it on the air. It reeked of dirty, sweaty bodies, and…fear. He slowed and took a slight detour to the left, bypassing the grocer's door to investigate. The station was empty but for two Nazi soldiers, arguing loudly about something in German. One of them was shouting, "_Nein! Ein fehlt! Die Zahlen_ _addierten nicht auf_!" (1) Feliciano was mystified; the only German he knew were very simple words like '_ja' _and _'nein' _and the phrases Ludwig uttered to him in bed, though those were mostly variations of '_ich liebe dich'(2)_ and… other things that wouldn't be said in public. Ve_,_ but learning foreign languages was so boring! Besides, there was another sound echoing painfully through the deserted station, a type of desperate buzzing that did not issue from the angry men.

Italy looked around, his wide eyes landing on the old cattle cars on the tracks. Through the crack the hinges left between the door and the frame of the car, Feliciano could see a glimmer in the darkness. Walking forward on light feet, he pressed his face to the crack – phew! The smell was definitely coming from there, as was the distressed sounds he heard before. He scanned the dim cart through the chink, his hands cupped between his eye and the wood to block the daylight and allow his vision to adjust. Suddenly, he realized that he was face to face with a dirty, trembling girl, her tears catching the shaft of sunlight as they trailed down her cheeks. There were others behind her – so many others! – crowded together in such a small space! It was freezing cold, and they had little clothes. What were they doing in there? They obviously didn't want to be… someone must have forced them in there!

Feliciano reeled backwards with a cry, causing the soldiers to notice him. They shouted one-syllable commands and made to run at him, but he was running to them first.

"What are you doing," Italy cried, "Let them out! Ve~ you have to help them!"

The Nazis did nothing but glare at him and yell in German after that statement, making Feliciano flinch away in fear, his easy tears beginning to flow. He wanted to run, to apologize and flee, but the girl in the cart stood in front of his vision like a ghost, her tears dripping sadness right into his usually carefree heart. He summoned what little courage he had and _screamed_ through the tears, "Let them go! _Per favore!_"

As he reverted to his native tongue in his desperation, the Nazis stopped yelling at him, getting funny looks on their faces – they looked almost happy! Feliciano's heart swelled with pride – _Doitsu_ was always telling him to fight, not to surrender, and he was right! They were going to save the people on the train!

One of the soldiers asked him, "_Sind Sie italienisch_?" (3)

"Yes," Feliciano cried, hearing his name, feeling overjoyed that they recognized him as the nation of Italy. "_Ja_!"

The soldiers looked very excited at this. "_Sind Sie ein italienischer Jude_?" (4) they asked eagerly.

"_Ja, ja!"_ Italy responded. The only word he recognized, besides his name, was _Jude_, which Ludwig's boss said a lot – therefore it had to be a good word!

The soldiers grinned and exchanged a look as the clearly insane Italian danced happily in front of them. Their numbers had been off by one occupant – a Jew had snuck off as they rounded the others into the carts to be taken directly to Aushwitz*. Clearly this little Jew would not be missed; he wasn't from here, he was completely mad, and was obviously too poor to even afford a pair of pants. He'd round out their numbers, their superiors would be satisfied, and no one would be any the wiser.

Convinced that the people were going to be saved, Feliciano ran over to the chink and babbled excitedly to the occupants that they were safe, they were _safe_ and nothing bad would happen to them – until he felt large, heavy hands grabbing him from behind.

*******

Germany emerged from his home office, stomach roiling unpleasantly. If he had to look at _one more_ slip of paper describing how the 'Final Solution' was being carried out in explicit detail, he'd be sick. As much as he'd never admit to it out loud, he needed Italia badly right now. The spritely nation was the only thing that took the edge off at times like this, when even the thought of a nice cold beer twisted his stomach. He'd find Feliciano and take a small _siesta_ with the auburn head tucked under his chin, and when they awoke the nation would yammer his ear off talking about his exploits of the day. Ludwig knew that spending time with the little country would allow the sickness eating away at his intestines to drain out of him almost without his noticing. The two would have dinner and, if he had his way, retire to the bedroom shortly thereafter.

Ludwig knew that, as they were allies, he should tell Feli why the Jews had been rounded into the ghettos, why the ghettos were now nearly empty, and what was really going on… but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It wasn't right to keep his ally in the dark, but he would do so if telling the truth came at the expense of his little lover's happiness – of their happiness together. Like hell was Germany going to drag the horrors of the war between Italia and himself.

He wandered the house looking for Feliciano until he noticed a scrap of paper on the kitchen counter that read;

_Dearest Ludwig,_

_You were working so hard today! I went to buy us some pasta. I might even buy that kind of wurst you like so much even though it's awful . ._

_~3 Italia_

_P.S. Don't be too mad, okay? I'm sorry!_

Cursing furiously in German, Ludwig donned his overcoat and gloves and rushed out the door. If he got to the store soon enough, he could stop the nation from buying any more expensive food… no matter how good the wurst was.

As he strode towards the grocer with his breath clouding the air, he could hear shouting from the railroad tracks – ah! That was right, the last of the Jews from the local ghetto were being transported to Auschwitz today. _Poor souls._ These were his people that they were carting away… his citizens, as vital to him as the blood in his veins. He sighed painfully and burrowed into his coat, his stomach spitting acid. He had really, _really _wanted to avoid this area at all costs today; reading about it was bad enough, he wasn't sure he could stand seeing it carried out. His scowl deepened as he realized that if Italia had just _stayed home_, this wouldn't have happened.

Getting closer, he could distinguish voices from the station. Two were deep and authoritative and shouting in German, "_Halt die klappe! Ruhe!"_ (5) Clearly, these were some of his soldiers – no one else had the right to be in the station that day. It was the screaming voice that Ludwig could hear beneath the Nazis, however, that paralyzed his heart with fear;

"_No! Fermatevi, per favore, fermatevi! Non fatemi del male! _LUDWIG!" (6)

Abandoning all sense of propriety, Germany broke into a sprint, his mind nothing but a blank canvas of terror. He turned the corner and _there they were_, snarling as they tried to push a screaming Feliciano into a cattle car, already obscenely full of mute, tear-stained Jews, their eyes wide as Italy struggled with everything his small body had. Had the circumstances been different, the scene would have looked almost comical; as one soldier wrapped an arm around Italia's chest to haul him into the cart, Feliciano kicked out his legs and braced them against either side of the door frame, preventing further movement towards the cart no matter how hard they pushed and swore.

Ludwig broke out of his stupor as the second officer punched Italia in the kidney, making him shriek in pain and lose his footing. In a flash, Feli was thrown into the cart with no regard for the many people already shut inside and the door was slammed shut on his cries. He watched as Italia's foot just barely jerked out of the doorway before it was broken.

Germany bellowed, "_Halt!"_

The men whipped around at the sound of his voice, and their eyes widened in surprise as they saw their commander striding towards them, angrier than anyone had ever seen him. They snapped to attention immediately, hands flying to their foreheads in salute.

Ludwig desperately wanted to get Italia out of there immediately – _Gott,_ he could hear the Italian wailing! – but he wanted information first.

"_What are you doing?!"_ he seethed in German.

"_We are transporting the Jews to Auschwitz, Kommandant!_" one of the soldiers replied.

"_Not the Jews, you __Hurensohn_ (7)_, the Italian!"_

If the men were shocked at Germany's swearing, they did not show it but for an uneasy exchange of glances. _"He is a Jew, sir, an Italian Jew. We were merely dispensing of the animal."_

Ludwig snarled, _"He is not a Jew, you idiots!"_ The men gasped and made to apologize, but Germany pushed them aside and wrenched open the door. The smell of human waste and unwashed bodies hit his nose hard, but he ignored it in favor of crouching down to carefully check his crumpled lover. Italia's eyes were closed as he sobbed, his face squashed against the filthy floor. Germany touched his hair softly, encouraged when Italy opened a watery eye to look at him.

Ludwig worked to get rid of the murderous look on his face, meant for the soldiers, because Feli would inevitably assume Germany was mad at him, which would only further distress the frightened nation. Germany closed his mind to the Jews and the smell and the soldiers cowering behind him and allowed his most gentle smile, created and reserved only for Italia, to spread over his face. He was rewarded by a small, broken smile, and two open eyes. "_Doitsu_," Feliciano whispered, "You saved me."

Germany reached out and softly swept his fingertips across his cheek. "That's what I'm here for," he whispered back. "Can you walk for me?"

Italy's eyes closed again, small tears leaking out from under the lids. "It hurts, Ludwig," he whimpered.

Germany shushed him. Italia was probably making a bigger deal about the pain than it was actually worth, but did it really matter at this point? "I'm going to lift you up, okay? We're going home. I'm sorry if it hurts you."

Feliciano snuffled against the wood, but raised the arm not pushed against the ground so Ludwig could more easily pick him up. Germany was gentle, avoiding touching Italy's side at all if he could help it, and cradled the small country bridal-style in his arms. The auburn head leaned against his chest and quieted.

Before turning around, Ludwig caught an agonizing eyeful of the silent condemned, watching him with all the solemnity of a funeral march. He looked away, burying his shame and sadness beneath his more immediate fury.

By the time he was facing the soldiers, his face rivaled that of an angered wolf. _"Let me make this very clear,"_ he spat at them in German, making them flinch. _"The only reason you are still alive is because I have more important business to take care of. I suggest you ask to be transferred somewhere far, far away from here, because if I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to tear you apart. Understood?"_

"_Ja"_ was the barely audible response.

Germany refused to acknowledge them, simply hefting Italia a little higher in his arms and walking towards his house.

***

(tbc)

*************

(1)No! We are missing one! The numbers do not add up!

(2)I love you

(3)Are you Italian?

(4)Are you an Italian Jew?

(5)Shut up! Quiet!

(6)No! Stop, please stop, don't hurt me!

(7)Son of a whore


End file.
